


More is More

by sevenlbs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fatlock, Feeding Kink, M/M, Weight Gain, pudge love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlbs/pseuds/sevenlbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the following prompt: After Sherlock and John finally get together, the sex is incredible. And so is Sherlock’s appetite. Apparently, the only reason Sherlock didn’t have much appetite beforehand was that he hadn’t had sex for years. Now that he and John are having regular, fantastic sex, Sherlock is ravenous. John is secretly thrilled as he watches Sherlock fill out, and more than a little turned on to watch the effect he’s having on Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More is More

“Oh, God,” John breathed, letting his head fall forward onto Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh, God. That was _amazing_.”

Ordinarily, Sherlock would shoot back with a self-satisfied remark when John said something like that, but not at the moment. He was speechless, breathing hard. John propped himself back up on his elbows and grinned down at him. “All right, there?”

“Yes,” Sherlock rumbled, eyes closed, an expression of utter bliss on his face. “God, yes.” He opened his eyes and looked hazily back at John. “I’m _starving_.”

John grinned down at him. “I think we can remedy that.”

* * *

The sex, as John had said, was amazing. There was no other word for it. Years of pining and longing had exploded into the most passionate, intense lovemaking of John’s life. If he’d ever had any doubts about crossing the line of friendship with Sherlock, they were blown away the first time they fell into bed together. They managed to keep up with Sherlock’s cases, but just barely -- it was hard not to be distracted by thoughts of what they might do when they got back to Baker Street.

John didn’t need to worry about deciding to tell their friends, either. Contentment and happiness must have been radiating from him, because Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson all guessed separately that it had finally happened. Sherlock himself looked so thoroughly well-shagged that his demeanor was markedly different. He actually held the door open for Sally at the Yard one day, prompting Anderson to ask if Sherlock was feeling all right.

Sherlock was definitely feeling all right. And he was also feeling... hungry. John was entirely amused to find out that only a week into their fledgling relationship, Sherlock had eaten nearly double the amount of their usual groceries. And when he wasn’t eating, he was complaining about the lack of food in their flat.

“Christ, Sherlock, I’ve been to the market three times this week,” John said, after Sherlock’s fortieth complaint about their lack of breakfast cereal. “I bought some each time. What have you been doing, pouring it down the gutter? Is this some sort of experiment?”

Sherlock scowled. “I want cereal. Nothing wrong with that, is there? You’re always trying to get me to eat.”

John chuckled. “Okay. It’s fine. Just checking.”

Although it was hard for John to believe, the sex got even better as time went on. Of course, it made perfect sense -- Sherlock was brilliant at everything he did, and this was no exception. He was so gifted at knowing exactly what John wanted that John felt like Sherlock knew it before he did himself. Not wanting to be outdone, John tried his hardest to figure out new and enticing ways to keep Sherlock guessing, and he turned out to be fairly talented at it. They ended up paying a contractor to come in and soundproof Sherlock’s bedroom, and then sent Mrs Hudson a giant bouquet of flowers when it was done. In return, she brought them a giant batch of scones, which Sherlock nearly demolished in a single afternoon.

“Save one for me, will you?” John teased, as Sherlock reached for yet another scone, absorbed at his microscope.

Sherlock grunted, waving a hand at the plate. “There are plenty.”

Well, no, not anymore, John thought, and hid a smile. Sherlock took a bite and shifted on his stool, and John’s gaze wandered over him affectionately. And then he blinked. Sherlock’s bespoke trousers were pinched at the waist, creased in a way that suggested they were a tiny bit tight.

Could that be right? Was Sherlock actually -- filling out? John supposed it was a natural result of Sherlock’s hugely increased appetite, but he hadn’t actually imagined it would affect Sherlock the way it would a normal human being. He studied Sherlock, who was still wolfing down the scone. Sherlock’s shirt buttons were straining as well, even more than usual. The sight was incredibly endearing -- and, John was surprised to find, more than a little bit arousing.

Unable to help himself, he stepped behind Sherlock, running his hands up and down his sides. Sherlock groaned happily into his touch, and John noted that Sherlock’s waistband was definitely a little tight.

“Want to take a break?” John murmured into his ear, and Sherlock nodded, popping the rest of the scone into his mouth before tipping his head back to let John kiss his neck.

* * *

Weeks turned into months, and the amazing sex continued, and even improved. And so did Sherlock’s appetite -- John found that his cooking had never been so appreciated. Gone were the days when Sherlock left cold, untouched plates of food around the flat. Now he actually requested his favourite meals, and more than that, had started to pitch in to help with the cooking and shopping.

They were getting plenty of exercise, if sex counted as exercise, but Sherlock’s appetite showed no signs of waning. And so, much to John’s amazement, he continued to fill out. His thin chest broadened, and his ribs began to disappear. His arse rounded out in a delicious curve, which drove John to distraction. And most impossibly of all, his belly started to poke out by a fractional amount. After one lazy weekend spent lounging in their pyjamas, Sherlock went to dress after showering and found his trousers just wouldn’t do up.

“Was wondering when that would happen,” John said, smirking fondly at Sherlock from the bed.

“Sex makes me hungry,” Sherlock muttered.

“Nothing wrong with that,” John assured him.

Sherlock reddened, and tugged at the clasp. “They’ll close.”

John’s grin widened. “I don’t think so. Want to borrow some of mine? They’ll be a bit short.”

Sherlock glowered down at himself, then pulled at the offending clasp again. “I’m _fine._ ”

John stood up, padding over to where Sherlock stood by the mirror. “You are,” he said matter-of factly. “You look incredible.” He gripped Sherlock’s arm until Sherlock released the trouser clasp, then turned Sherlock to face him, but Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Honestly,” John added, settling his hands on Sherlock’s waist. “You look healthy. And really bloody _happy_ , if that’s all right with you.”

Sherlock couldn’t help a small smile, but he glanced down at himself again ruefully. “I suppose.”

“Now we’re going to take these to the tailor,” John said, tugging at the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock’s newly rounded stomach, pressed between them, gave a loud rumble.

John laughed, slid his hand over, and patted it. “And we’re going to feed this belly of yours on the way home.”

* * *

John’s middle wasn’t exactly trim these days either, but this wasn’t really anything new. His weight had fluctuated within a ten-pound range for the past few years, and at the moment he was nearing the upper end of things -- which Sherlock sometimes teased him about, poking the bulgiest bit of his stomach or settling his head against it on the sofa. But Sherlock’s added weight was an entirely new development, and John watched in continued surprise as the numbers on the scale continued to tick upwards.

They’d bought a scale -- Sherlock had insisted -- but given John’s great enthusiasm for Sherlock’s fleshier body, Sherlock seemed to be using it for curiosity’s sake, rather than as a weight loss incentive. One afternoon John heard the scale’s telltale beep, then watched as Sherlock strode out of the bathroom, cheeks slightly flushed.

“What’s it say, then?” John said, as Sherlock pretended to have urgent business checking his phone.

It had to be some significant number. Sherlock’s enthusiastic appetite was now the norm, rather than an anomaly, and their friends had started to comment on Sherlock’s filled-out frame. The trousers Sherlock had altered were starting to pinch and crease again. The weight had settled mostly at Sherlock’s middle, and his belly was getting visibly rounder under increasingly tight shirts.

“A stone and a half,” Sherlock grumbled.

John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock looked down at his phone again. “Maybe two,” he added, far more quietly.

John began to chuckle. “Maybe two.”

“All right, two stone.” Sherlock shot him a look, pocketing his phone, then folded his arms over the unmistakable curve of his stomach. “No need to feed me up anymore. Happy?”

“Very,” John answered honestly. “I’d like to show you how happy, if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock’s gaze went from irritated to heated. “I...”

“Bedroom,” John commanded, and Sherlock grinned.

* * *

After that, Sherlock stopped complaining. It seemed that John’s persistent enthusiasm and lavishing of attention over every inch of new flesh had put his mind at rest. The sex continued to be amazing, and Sherlock’s weight crept up, slowly but surely.

John, for his part, couldn’t get enough of it. He loved the way Sherlock moved these days, still light on his feet, the added weight making him look stronger, more solid. He especially loved when Sherlock discovered another piece of clothing that had grown too small, and pretended to be put out by it. Plenty of his older things could not quite contain his little paunch, and John suspected that Sherlock kept them around just to drive John crazy. In a good way.

And the sex, oh God, the sex. When they’d first started sleeping together, Sherlock had been all bones and muscle. These days he was still heavy with muscle, but he was more belly and arse than bones. He felt soft and warm and just... _incredible_. One night in bed Sherlock straddled him, then leaned in to kiss his neck and let out a surprised “oof” of breath. John kissed his shoulder and began to laugh. Sherlock’s tum was in the way, pinning John down just enough that he felt a bit breathless.

“You’re getting heavy,” John managed, as Sherlock ran his tongue over John’s ear. John shuddered happily.

“Hmm,” Sherlock breathed. “Am I crushing you?”

“Not really.” John kissed him again. “Not yet, anyway.”

Sherlock rolled to the side, pulling John with him. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, and John could tell he was smirking in the dark.

“What’re you implying?”

“You like me bigger.” Sherlock prodded him. “Obvious.”

John rolled Sherlock onto his back, pinning his shoulders, and began to kiss a line down his body, running his hands over him as Sherlock hummed appreciatively. Even flat on his back, John noted, Sherlock’s belly was starting to curve upwards rather than lay flat. John kissed it reverently. “I’d be mad not to like this.”

Sherlock chuckled, and his tum jiggled faintly. He rested a hand on it, where John had just kissed. “I’m getting fat, and it’s all your fault.”

“ _My_ fault.” John began to kiss lower, down to the soft skin of Sherlock’s inner thighs. Sherlock squirmed.

“Encouraging me.”

“Is that what happened.” John returned to kiss Sherlock’s tum again. “You think so? Feeding you, was I?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, and gave a helpless moan. John’s arousal spiked. His mind was filled with a vision of Sherlock, belly huge after an enormous meal, reclining on the sofa. Apparently the idea was arousing enough to nearly send both of them over the edge.

“You’d... like that, would you?” John managed. “I should feed you sometime?”

“Must... experiment,” Sherlock gasped, before they became far too distracted to talk.

* * *

They tried not to let things get out of hand, and mostly, they managed. But the first time John fed Sherlock dessert -- a thick slice of cheesecake -- they were both nearly moaning by the time he’d finished, and couldn’t even make it into the bedroom before tearing each other’s clothes off. That led to a memorable evening ordering far too much takeaway, with Sherlock propped on the sofa at the end of it, cradling his swollen belly in a sated stupor. The sex after that had been even better -- Sherlock could barely move, which was somehow erotic all by itself.

John wasn’t sure what was so damn arousing about this, but the fact was, they were both turned on beyond reason. Maybe it was the danger of it, actually -- Sherlock couldn’t afford to be truly fat, not really, so this kind of overindulgence seemed like forbidden fruit -- a truly foolish idea. Which meant it was also appealing as hell.

And there was also the way Sherlock looked with a belly on him -- a real belly, not just a soft little tum. When he overate, they could both see how he would really look, if the effects of his meal stuck around -- Sherlock was tall, and his chest was broader now, and he could get big if he really wanted to do it.

Or maybe it was just a fantasy, imagining the day when they might retire and sit around the flat getting fat on Mrs Hudson’s scones. Which was not unlike what they were doing at the moment, actually.

They tried to limit their experimental sessions, mostly because Sherlock would sometimes be out of commission for at least half a day, and they couldn’t always risk it. But even so, Sherlock’s weight stopped inching up, and instead, took a leap. It wasn’t until Mrs Hudson bustled in with their linens one afternoon that John truly noticed.

“Look at you,” she cooed at Sherlock, who was lounging on the sofa, lost in thought about a cold case. “John, you’ve done such a marvellous job feeding him up, I tried for years.” Setting the pile of folded sheets on the sofa, she raised an eyebrow in Sherlock’s direction. “Even a bit extra, hmm?”

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock snapped. She started, but gave John a twinkly smile before hurrying back down the stairs.

John looked up at Sherlock and saw immediately what had prompted Mrs Hudson’s comments. Sherlock was slumped back on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, wearing a soft t-shirt. In this position, his belly was proudly on display, looking quite a bit bigger than John remembered. Sherlock sat up and tugged at his shirt, and their eyes met.

“I could retire,” Sherlock said, and smirked.

John looked at him fondly. “Really?”

Sherlock sighed. “No, not quite yet. So maybe we should -- restrain ourselves. Until then.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve no idea how much I weighed this morning.”

Sherlock looked flushed, but was it embarrassment -- or arousal? John felt his own cheeks growing hot. Last time he’d checked, Sherlock had been thirteen stone -- up from his usual rail-thin eleven stone.

“No idea.”

“Thirteen ten,” Sherlock said, smoothing a hand over his stomach, then drumming his fingers on it.

“Thirteen ten,” John breathed. Nearly two hundred pounds. The thought made his insides go absolutely molten. “No wonder.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “No wonder... what.”

“I mean. Look at you.”

Sherlock smiled slowly, and stretched deliberately, his t-shirt rucking up over his belly to expose a sliver of pale flesh. “Maybe you should look a bit closer.”

John was at Sherlock’s side before he could really think, locking the sitting room doors and sliding onto the sofa next to him. They leaned in, reaching for each other, and John swallowed a moan as Sherlock’s gut pressed against him. John put a hand on Sherlock’s side, and broke off their kiss. “Bit podgy now, aren’t you?” he murmured slyly.

“Closer to plump, I think.” Sherlock leaned in, tugging at John’s shirt. “You’re the podgy one.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Their contented giggles faded into moans, and soon they were half-stripped of clothing, John propped above Sherlock on the sofa, licking kisses into the soft skin of his belly.

“Too bad this can’t stay, hmm?” Sherlock murmured.

John pulled back, not able to hide his disappointment. “Going to lose a bit, then?”

“Think of it this way. Now we know what we both like. We can make... plans, for the future.”

“Hmm,” John said, nosing at the soft skin at Sherlock’s hip. “Collect recipes, you mean.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock agreed. “Find a cottage somewhere. Near a few excellent restaurants.”

“We should definitely research the restaurants.”

“And get a few larger suits, just in case.”

John blew out a breath. “Really?”

“Only if you’d like.”

“Well, we can’t have you exploding out of your old ones, I suppose,” John said, with a grin.

“Oh, God,” Sherlock groaned, the thought apparently too much. “I’m going to be huge.”

“Mmmm... maybe a bit bigger, yeah.”

“Heavier than this, you think?”

“Well, you’re plenty round now, but... yeah, I think so.”

Sherlock bit his lip. _“Yes_.”

“I can’t wait,” John breathed, and Sherlock grinned into their kiss.


End file.
